Stormwind Wizard God
Chapter 821: Fel Crown

Chapter 821: Fel Crown

"Tell me, do you truly wish to embrace this new path? Do you desire this power above all else?" Duke’s words dripped with mock piety, but his eyes, sharp and calculating, conveyed the chilling subtext: If you refuse to commit, if you refuse to surrender, then dealing with you will become exceedingly... difficult.

Beside him, the righteous hero Grom Hellscream, witnessing Duke’s masterful blend of threats and allure as he coerced a powerful, utterly brainless fanatic of the Burning Legion, silently seethed. Duke, do whatever you want. I can barely stomach this. But if you’re going to strike, just give me the word. He tilted his head, gazing up at the bleak, rain-streaked sky, finding no solace there. Ah, what a perfect day to be anywhere but here.

Xavius, utterly consumed by the intoxicating promise of power, remained oblivious to the venomous trap woven into Duke’s every word. Yes! It’s true I’m inviting you to join the Legion, but I never specified which Legion—the Burning Legion or some other, lesser force? Either way, I am now the legitimate Lord of the Burning Legion. If you dare to question me, go ahead, try to sue me before Sir Sargeras! If you can pierce through my true identity and prove my wicked intentions...

And so, inevitably, Xavius swallowed Duke’s lies whole! It was akin to uttering sacred vows in a bizarre, unholy ceremony. With a piety that bordered on madness, and an almost desperate enthusiasm, Xavius declared, "I do!"

Grom, standing nearby, was suddenly profoundly grateful he hadn’t overindulged in water at lunch; otherwise, he would have burst into uncontrollable laughter right there. He simply could not fathom why Xavius, knowing the immense risks and the potential for instant death, chose to believe Duke’s deceit. Grom’s mind reeled with more questions than stars in the sky. If he could, he would have screamed at Xavius: Are you a complete and utter moron?!

Yet, this wasn’t entirely Grom’s fault. As an Orc, he could never truly comprehend the high elves’ insatiable, almost pathological hunger for power. Nor could he possibly grasp the sheer volume of modern scams Duke, a super-traveler who had traversed time twice, had witnessed in his Earth Kingdom. This was, at its core, a masterclass in psychological manipulation.

The first step: identify the target’s deepest psychological need. You crave power? I possess it.

Then, Duke bombarded Xavius with relentless psychological conditioning, akin to whispering, "Your chances of winning a twenty-million-dollar lottery jackpot are infinitely higher than earning twenty million with your own hands." After countless centuries of stagnant progress since becoming Antonidas-level, Xavius was, of course, desperate, impatient, and ripe for losing his mind.

Next came the inevitable consequence of Duke’s carefully laid traps. In public, Duke wielded the terrifying endorsement of Kil’jaeden, the supreme boss of the Burning Legion. With the combined authority of a neighborhood committee, the Midian Police Department, the FBI, and the Department of Homeland Security, he had issued a certificate for himself, proclaiming "your grandfather is your grandfather," treating Xavius as his subservient grandson from the very outset.

In private, typically, any Burning Legion lord forcibly descending upon Azeroth would find their combat power brutally slashed by 80% to 90% due to the planet’s protective magical wards. But Duke was a "genuine" Azerothian! When Nozdormu hurled Duke ten thousand years into the past, how could he not have known about the backdoor he’d left behind? Thus, Duke had brought back almost every ounce of power he had amassed from the Twisting Nether.

Duke reappeared in the most potent, never-before-seen dark priest form in ten millennia. He was saturated with fel energy, effortlessly dominating almost every mortal champion, utterly shattering the minds of Xavius and the other fools. In the end, even Xavius, cunning as a devil, had no choice but to leap into the inferno!

Duke didn’t even bother to lift his eyelids. His voice, a low rumble, commanded, "Offer your soul to the Legion!"

Duke swiped a finger through the air, and an ethereal soul balance materialized before Xavius. It was a grotesque scale, crafted in the style of the Burning Legion, its base molded into the gnarled demon hand of the ancient Kil’jaeden. One pan of the balance was, naturally, reserved for Xavius’s offering. Above the other, a glass container held a pulsating orb of yellow-green fel energy, glowing with an ominous light.

Anyone could see at a glance that the purity and raw power of this fel energy dwarfed the pool of "sesame paste" before them by hundreds of times! This was the special offer!

Xavius’s mind reeled with sudden realization: the more soul he offered, the greater his loyalty, and the more profound and potent the power he would receive. That’s fair! No problem!

At first, he had only intended to offer a mere 20% as a token of his appreciation. But as the situation escalated, he felt embarrassed to offer less than 30%. Now, it seemed, anything less than 40% would be utterly inappropriate! Of course, 50% was unthinkable. Anyone who severed 50% of their soul would cease to be themselves, becoming nothing more than a broken, walking husk.

So, no matter how reluctant, how bitter, Xavius gritted his teeth and articulated his willingness to offer 40% of his soul to the empty pan of the scale.

"I—Xavius! To prove my unwavering loyalty to the Burning Legion, I am willing to offer 40% of my soul to the Legion’s messenger, Lord Infernal Affairs!" The words had barely left his lips when Xavius seemed to lose all strength.

"Well said!" Duke smiled, and from the void, a soul dagger materialized. Its hilt was a demonic head, its blade gleamed with malevolent light, its form utterly ferocious. It descended slowly, inexorably, towards Xavius.

"Ahhhhhhhh——" A piercing scream tore from Xavius’s throat. His entire body convulsed violently, and after a few agonizing seconds, he collapsed to the ground, as if dead.

When did Duke learn to carve up souls?

Please, Duke thought, this is basic self-training for a Burning Legion lord, isn’t it? If you want to join the Burning Legion, but you don’t know how to seize others’ souls, how dare you call yourself a lord?

Before Duke left, he had extorted numerous promises from the Eredar Twins to acquire this "essential skill for lords." Of course, after the system AI analyzed it, Duke had secretly nullified the trick the twins had left within the method. Cutting souls was a technical art. Forcibly tearing a soul from another’s body was incredibly difficult, requiring one’s own soul strength to vastly surpass the target’s. And it was a thankless task, as forcibly severing another’s soul would also drain one’s own soul power.

However, it was an entirely different matter when the other party offered it voluntarily. That was simpler than a knife slicing through ripe fruit! As long as this soul remained in Duke’s grasp, he could, at any future whim, crush it, collapsing Xavius’s spirit, or drastically reducing his power, rendering him a useless husk.

Since Xavius had willingly plunged into the pit, Duke naturally accepted with a triumphant smile. He used his newly acquired method to solidify Xavius’s soul and sealed it within a specialized soul container.

Duke’s voice resonated with chilling authority. "On behalf of Lord Sargeras, I grant you the power of Xavius." A green fel light erupted from his fingertips, flying towards Xavius’s head, forming a verdant crown which settled firmly upon Xavius’s brow.

Xavius could clearly feel the ancient chains that had imprisoned his potential for eons beginning to unlock under the impetus of this new power. Every fiber of his being, every desperate cell, was utterly consumed by this surging, alien force. It surged through his veins, ignited his arcane circuits, asserting its tyrannical will over every corner of his being. Like a conquering inferno, it branded every organ, every cell, with the searing mark of fel energy.

It began from the dimmest sixth magnitude star and soared, relentlessly! Fifth-magnitude star... fourth-magnitude star... third-magnitude star! The Antonidas-level magic power, stagnant for countless years, was amplified by three magnitudes in one breathtaking surge! Xavius shuddered with a primal, ecstatic tremor.

"HAHA! POWER! Is this the taste of true dominion?!" Xavius straightened, gazing at the razor-sharp talons that now extended from his once-delicate fingers, but he saw no monstrosity, only the glorious manifestation of his newfound might.

But suddenly, the power that had seemed to spread and expand endlessly within his body slammed to an agonizing halt. This caused Xavius to plummet back to the cold ground, ripped from the very clouds of ecstasy. He looked at Duke, a flicker of bewildered frustration on his face. He didn’t understand what had happened. While the power was immense, why had it ceased, so different from his grand imaginings?

Duke’s smile was a predatory enigma. "The Legion tolerates no weakness, no idleness. Your worth is measured in loyalty, Xavius, and in action. Go! Tear open the gateway! Usher the Legion into Azeroth! The moment that portal gapes wide, the power you crave, the power you dream of, will be yours."

A jolt of chilling clarity ripped through Xavius! Yes! Loyalty was paramount, but ability was equally crucial! Loyalty without competence was merely useless waste. Not even the Legion, let alone himself, tolerated incompetent subordinates. This was the mentality of an emperor, flawless in its logic!

He still remembered his communion with the void, Xavius in the spiritual realm, standing before a burning sphere, staring intently at the crack in its core. Deep within the sphere, the eyes of ’God’ had gazed back at him. "I have heard your plea. And I know your dream... The impurities and imperfections of the world should be eliminated. I will give you what you desire, you are my loyal servant... The entrance is not yet open... It needs to be strengthened... Because it needs to be large enough for me to enter..."

These were indeed the original words of ’God’. Xavius nodded, a chilling understanding dawning in his eyes. He recognized the ’God’s’ command, echoed through Duke. The portal constructed by the night elves through ordinary means was indeed insufficient to accommodate ’God’. Should he attempt to force his way through, the gate would likely shatter. The gateway had to be enlarged, widened, made permanent. This was the ultimate crucible, the final test of his devotion from the ’God’ himself.

"Great Lord Mark Dooku. My request below is not mandatory, but if it is..."

"If what?" Duke’s voice cut through the air.

"If there is more powerful evidence, it will accelerate the process of pushing Queen Azshara to side with the Legion!" After two seconds of tense silence, Xavius finally spoke: "I hope the Legion can send some powerful servants for the Queen to use. If possible, they should be as beautiful as possible."

Duke’s smile widened. "The great ’God’ will always meet the reasonable requests of his servants!"

That afternoon, the opulent, forbidden palace of Azshara lay cloaked in a regal silence. As Children of the Stars, the Kaldorei traditionally sought slumber during the day, shielding their delicate forms from the sun’s harsh, burning gaze. So the Queen was sleeping.

Azshara, ever the epitome of grace, showed no flicker of annoyance at the servant who dared to intrude upon her sacred rest. The servant quickly knelt in the queen’s chambers. The Queen, a vision of ethereal beauty, stirred from her silken repose, her form a tantalizing silhouette behind the sheer curtains.

Azshara, accustomed to a world bending to her whim, found it impossible to conceive of anything that could genuinely pique her interest, much less compel her from the luxurious embrace of her bed. Even if the petitioner was Xavius, her most trusted, most devoted advisor.

Her cascade of silver hair fanned across the pillow. A subtle pursing of her perfect lips, then a languid wave of her hand. "He shall wait five minutes!"

The Queen’s expression hinted at irritation, yet she rose with effortless grace. Gazing into the mirror, confirming her timeless allure, a faint, self-satisfied smile touched Azshara’s lips. Perhaps her ’dear’ chief advisor imagined he held some sway over his sovereign. But Azshara, the unparalleled Queen, possessed an unshakeable conviction: she could master any man.

"He may enter in ten minutes." She stretched, a feline grace in every movement, then reclined languidly on a chaise longue, one arm draped behind her head. Two silk-clad servants knelt, their fans creating a gentle, rhythmic breeze.

As Xavius hurried in, Azshara subtly shifted, ensuring the light caressed her most exquisite curves, highlighting the divine perfection of her form. The Queen’s voice, always a silken melody, flowed like liquid moonlight.

"My dear Xavius! To seek my audience at such an hour, you must bear tidings of extraordinary import." Her hand drifted, with seemingly casual elegance, across the silken expanse of her leg, subtly enhancing the exquisite contours of her body. "Forgive my slight delay," she purred, "I merely wished to present myself in the most perfect state for your esteemed presence."

Observing Xavius’s nervous gulp, the Queen’s smile deepened, becoming a captivating, almost predatory, allure.

Xavius’s heart pounded. He dropped to one knee, eyes fixed on the pristine white marble. "Source of All Lights, most exquisite being in all creation," he intoned, his voice trembling with reverence, "I am emboldened to disturb your sacred rest, for I bear a gift. A gift truly worthy of you—the Queen of the Night Elves, the sovereign of this world. May I summon them?"

He risked a glance. His words had struck their mark. Through the sheer veil, the Queen’s eyes gleamed with a rising tide of curiosity and desire. Azshara abandoned her languid pose, sitting upright, leaning forward against the chaise longue’s back, her limbs subtly tensed with anticipation.

"You have whetted my appetite, my dear Xavius. Present your gift."

The counselor rose, turned to the grand doors, and snapped his fingers with sharp precision. A retinue of guards entered, preceding the true spectacle. As they parted, Queen Azshara’s breath hitched, a flush of raw excitement painting her perfect cheeks.

Four towering, hulking demon guards, their forms radiating raw, brutal power. And behind them, twelve elven maids, clad only in wisps of underwear and translucent gauze. While the sheer, untamed savagery of the demon guards offered the Queen a perverse sense of security, it was the maids who truly captivated her. Their bodies shimmered with mysterious, glowing arcane patterns, emanating powerful magical fluctuations that drew Azshara’s gaze like a moth to a flame.